


Dear Muriel

by cleansam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bodyswap, F/M, Humor, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleansam/pseuds/cleansam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts '23. Merlin knows who's shagging who. In fact, Merlin knows who's who. A year-long secret relationship, an anonymous letter to the Daily Prophet, hurtful words, months of tension, a tedious assignment, an ingenious bet, a suspicious blog, vague instructions, and a body-switching potion cause chaos not only between Rose and Scorpius, but throughout the whole school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Muriel

**A/N: Scorpius and Rose switch bodies after a childish bet. The potion's effect is said to wear off after 24 hours. It doesn't.**

**A more detailed author's note is at the end of the chapter. Enjoy, read, and review!**

* * *

**Baratheon's Blog**

**or**

**What it Means to be a Man**

**(Scorpius H. Malfoy)**

* * *

In the days of my youth  
I was told what it means to be a man  
And now I've reached that age  
I've tried to do all those things the best I can  
No matter how hard I try  
I find my way to the same old jam

-Led Zeppelin

* * *

**15** **th** **of December, Ten to Midnight, the Dungeons**

Dear Muriel,

Let's get a couple of things straight:

a) I do  _not_  enjoy writing letters to a fictional character at  _all._

b) This stupid assignment will  _not_  help me 'come in terms with myself' or make me 'evaluate my daily actions more clearly' or teach me the 'importance of being true to oneself'.

c) I will  _not_  be convinced that Loony Scamander has a degree in Psychological Healing until she provides me with a copy of her diploma.

This is bullshit.

This all is.

Trust Professor McGonagall to assign a nutjob as our Psych Healer.

You got to second me on this, Muriel. How the bloody hell am I supposed to take this woman who wears radishes as earrings seriously?

Being the bold person that I am, I've tried overlooking her preposterous style and abiding her idiotic teaching style for the past six years. But this?

This is the last straw.

How dare she ask us upperclassmen to write daily letters to this 'Muriel'? Doesn't she know that people in their late teens  _hate_  talking (or in this case, writing) about their feelings? Let me tell you from the start, mate. I'm keeping my letters as concise as possible. In fact, I'm giving myself a 500-word limit.

Don't expect any more than that!

I haven't got much time to write, as I have a bloody  _date_  with Weasley in ten minutes.

Yeah, Muriel, you read that right: I'm meeting Weasley in the fourth floor library.

Don't get me wrong, this isn't a typical date.

Merlin, no!

As if I'd make that mistake  _twice_.

To understand why on earth I'm meeting that prat, you need to know a bit about today. It's safe to say it all began in today's potions class.

So let's get a recap, shall we?

* * *

(Good Times)

* * *

I seriously doubt that you've ever been in a sixth year potions class, or that you'll ever be in one, for that matter. You're one of the lucky ones that will never set foot in Hogwarts. 'What the hell?' you're asking me. 'Getting the chance to even touch one of Hogwarts' walls is a blessing!' Well, mate…

You're wrong.

Hogwarts is a jungle.

Quiet and deadly and vicious in the morning; wild crazy and, truthfully, scary at night. That's Hogwarts for you: full of wild animals, young and old. You have to put up with them until they shove a diploma in your hand and kick you out.

Seven years of your life you're never getting back.

Yeah, I'm bitter.

So what? Bite me.

Of course, Hogwarts isn't all that bad. There are a couple of things that make life bearable here like close mates, hot chicks, endless supply of anything illegal, and of course, flicking tiny eyeballs at Rose Weasley during third period.

Let me tell you, third period on Mondays are the worst. You've already been through two excruciating hours of Six-Fucking-Incredible-Steps-to-Turn-your-Fucking- Teacup-into-a-Fucking-Mouse, you're hungry and bored and you honestly don't care about the effects of Vividius Maxima, but you still have to sit through another hour of Vividius Bullshit. And then, oh boy this is the best part, you have to listen to Rubeus Hagrid overenthusiastically spewing stupid facts about Horned Whatever-the-fuck-he's-talking-about.

In a state of weariness like that, anything becomes more entertaining than Professor Slughorn babbling on and on about something that I forgot to listen to. This includes staring at my fingernails or watching that weird Ravenclaw pick her nose or trying to picture Dominique Weasley's perfectly shaped arse without a skirt cladding it. The last option is significantly time consuming if she's standing right in front of you, leaning towards her desk, with her arse very close to your face.

And… there comes the boner!

For the next few minutes, I flex my arm to get the blood flow to leave Scorpius Jr. and think of my naked Grandfather, a little technique Al and I came up with in second year to avoid a lifetime of humiliation.

(Albus fucking Dumbledore,  _why_ did I just write that? Loony Scamander will read these!)

I glance at Al, who is simultaneously writing down notes and listening to Slughorn. Thank Dumbledore… He hasn't seen what just happened.

"I saw that," he mumbles eventually, not looking away from his notebook. "And I swear to Merlin I won't ever lend you my notes again if you keep staring at Dom's lady parts."

A stupid threat like that isn't something a normal person would care about, but I practically live off of Al's notes. The thing about me, is that I try to avoid listening to the Professors' crap during the classes, and then I just read Al's notes in the breaks and do a bit of self-studying with the books at night.

And voilà, my grades range between Es and Os, which proves my point about teachers being completely useless. Believe me, the government could be doing much better things with their paychecks.

However, pointing that out to Professor McGonnagall is apparently a terrible idea and will get you a half-hour long lecture and two days in detention.

Slughorn finally notices that half the class doesn't give a rat's arse about Vividius Maxi-something, and proceeds to give us the instructions to brew Melmaboar, some sort of healing potion.

"It's a very easy potion to brew," he says, "so it should take you less than fifteen minutes to get it done. Best one in class gets a can of crystalized pineapples! Get into pairs now. Go on."

Al, ever the potions geek, immediately dashes to the cupboard to get the needed ingredients. He comes back as quickly as he left and shoves a jar of eyeballs in my hands. "Cut them into quarters. Try to make them equal."

"Shall I cut them with determination or with love?" I ask sarcastically.

Not quite catching the sarcasm, he mumbles, "Both."

I roll my eyes and take an eyeball from the jar. Damn it, it's slippery. By the time I've managed to cut six eyeballs in perfectly equal quarters, Al has already chopped up the Mandrake root, boiled the Vividius Maxima, and diluted the bull saliva. I sit back and observe my classmates as Al adds the eyeballs to the boiling brew.

Everyone else around us is still struggling with the third or fourth step, but Al and I are almost done. These are the perks of having Albus Severus Potter as my best mate.

Ten minutes later, almost everyone is ready, and bored out of their minds too. In front of me, Rose Weasley seems to be growing frustrated. "It's supposed to be pink, Dom," Weasley snaps at her friend. "Not freaking purple!"

Dom seems like she honestly couldn't care less. She scans the cauldron and shrugs. "Let it boil for a bit, luv, it'll get better."

Weasley makes a sound between a dying cat and a hippopotamus having an orgasm as she sits down and rests her head on the table. I catch Dom's eye and she mouths "Crazy." We share a silent laugh, which is interrupted by a very disappointed looking Slughorn.

"Tsk tsk tsk." He overplays it, as always. "I expected better from you girls."

Neither of the say anything and he turns his attention to our cauldron. "Nice work there, boys. It seems to be slightly thick, though."

Al looks like his world has shattered before his eyes. He begins mumbling apologies and explanations, not noticing Slughorn is long gone.

I snort. "Nerd."

"Oh, shut it."

Slughorn tells us that we've got ten minutes before the bell, and we're free to do whatever we want. That, of course, isn't so appealing to me, seeing as I've been doing exactly that since class began.

Beside me, Al puts his head down for one of his 'power naps'. I guess it's something that runs in the family, because Weasley and Dom proceed to do so too.

That's when I get the idea.

To flick eyeballs at Weasley, I mean.

The first one I flick hits Dom on the nose by accident, when she raises her head to stretch.

I put my finger to my lips in a gesture for her to be quiet, and then motion to Weasley with my eyes. Dom rolls her eyes in an 'I really don't want to deal with your childish crap' kind of way.

The second one I flick, lands on Weasley's curly mess of a hair. To my surprise, it sticks there, and she doesn't even notice. And thus begins my game of how many eyeballs can fit the surface of Weasley's hair before the bell.

By the time the bell rings, her hair looks like a red Christmas tree with eyeballs for baubles. Dom's the first one to notice, and hesitates to tell her. "Dom, please," I mouth at her. "I'll give you chocolate." With a tiny nod, she agrees to keep silent. At least she's gracious enough to look guilty.

"That's not gonna end well," Albus tells me as we walk out of class. "Don't say I didn't tell you so." He then proceeds to hand me his stack of notes.

"Both you and Dom are shitty cousins, you know that, right?" I smirk at him. "You could've been kind enough to warn her."

He shrugs. "I'm still mad at her. With what happened over summer, I mean..."

Oh, Merlin. No. We're  _so_  not getting into this.

_Nope._

"What are we doing after dinner?" I ask hastily.

"I have Quidditch practice," he sighs. "Two hours of Crawford riding our arses."

"Oh." I try not to sound too disappointed. "Ok."

"D'you wanna go to the Astronomy Tower after I'm done?" he asks. "We'll get some stuff from James."

"I can't, I'm tutoring Renley at eight tonight."

You see, by the time a pupil is in their second year, they have to decide on what extracurricular activities they want to waste their time with. Most join two or three clubs, like Dominique Weasley who is both in the Ravenclaw cheer squad and the drama club. Some prefer to focus on one thing like Al and James, who are the star players of the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams, respectively. Some, like me, have no passion or talent or any sort of trait that makes them even remotely interesting so they end up joining the Tutor Center. If they're smart enough, of course.

The Tutor Center is a club that was formed roughly around the time I started Hogwarts. It is limited to having twenty tutors each year. Usually when seventh year tutors graduate, second or third year tutors join. Some sort of written and interactive test have to be taken to show that you're qualified enough to be a tutor. Once you're in, it's a year-long commitment. Your grades are dragged down if you decide that you want to quit in the middle of the semester. You're only allowed to resign by the end of each school year.

Weasley and Dom walk past us. Every student they walk by sniggers at the Christmas tree on top of Weasley's hair.

"I did that," I whisper to a group of fifth year Hufflepuffs, which earns me a high-five from a particularly hot member of their clique.

"Have you no shame?" Albus hisses at me.

"Dunno," I laugh. "You tell me."

Al and I linger in the corridor for a bit, walking slowly behind the two Weasleys. Al's being my guide while I read his notes, so I don't walk into a wall or something. Suddenly, he stops dead in his tracks and pulls me back in my arm. "Oh, Merlin, this is so not gonna end well."

I look up and see Man-Bear walk up to Weasley and Dom and put his arms over their shoulders.

"And how are my two favorite Ravenclaws today?" Then he stops and frowns at Weasley. "What's with your hair?"

A very confused Weasley reaches up to her head and her hand catches a slimy little sphere. It's all very difficult not to burst out laughing at the crimson shade her face becomes. Man-Bear furiously looks up and catches me sniggering. "Did you do this?" His voice echoes in the almost empty hallway.

After that, Weasley's face doesn't seem so funny anymore.

To understand why I'm suddenly contemplating about changing my name to Rick and moving to Kenya, you have to know a bit about Man-Bear. Man-Bear, commonly known as Lorcan Scamander, is a very, very big fellow who can easily knock you out with one punch. He's pretty much everything girls wet their panties over. Worst of all, he's one of Rose Weasley's best mates, which means you risk your life by messing with Weasley.

Let's look at the stats now, shall we? Man-Bear: big, buff, seventh year Ravenclaw Quidditch captain.

Versus me.

Me.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy: Freakishly tall yet lacking any sort of muscle, except for the ones on his backside, which give him a lady-butt (fine one at that, though), scrawny, lanky, and can't get on a broom to save his life. Plus, would end up breaking his arm if he tried to throw a punch.

Need I go on?

Man-Bear knows that if he tries to duel me, I'm gonna wipe the floor with his arse. That's why he dashes towards me instead of civilly dealing with the problem. Al steps in front of me protectively, which pisses me off even more. I mean, getting your arse kicked is pretty embarrassing but getting your arse saved is even worse.

What really comes as a shocker is that Weasley runs after Man-Bear and grabs his wrist. "Lorcan, come on. He's not worth detention. Yeah, come on. You're gonna be late to class. I'll talk to you at lunch, alright? Go on. Ok. See you. Bye…"

"Put your dog on a leash, will you," Al growls at Weasley after Man-Bear leaves.

"Keep your monkey in a cage, then," she retorts, glaring at me.

Ouch.

"I'm putting both of you in a kennel if you don't stop," Dom snaps at her cousins. She looks up at me apologetically, and then drags Weasley off to Charms.

Al and I watch the pair leave, not uttering a single word. We're silent for most of our way to Hagrid's hut until he mutters, "Told you so."

* * *

(Bad Times)

* * *

Not much happens until later that night. It's almost seven p.m. and I'm sitting alone in the tiny fourth floor library. You know, the one that is almost always empty.

Talk about having a life…

Right now Al, Alec, Maya, and Colin are getting their arses whooped at Quidditch practice; Chastity, Anika, and Troy are at some drama club meeting; James has to help Lily out with a stupid divination project, and yes, I'm talking about the Potters; and Dom's off on a 'date' with her new shag buddy.

Which is why I'm adding this to the list of reasons why I really, really hate Mondays: every single person I usually hang out with is busy. Sometimes, if I'm lucky enough, I get to spend half an hour with Dom. We don't do much talking, though.

Today, unfortunately, I won't get a much-needed half-hour with Dom. Instead, I have my nose buried in Transfiguration:Year Six, trying to catch up with what I missed in class this morning.

I'm not enjoying myself, but at least I have my privacy. That is, however, until I hear Man-Bear's bark. "Malfoy, you and I need to chat."

I look up to see Man-Bear towering over me, until I stand up, at least. "What do you want, Scamander?"

"What do  _I_ want? What do  _you_ want, Malfoy, from Rose?"

"Not much, really. A blowjob would be nice, though."

His face turns bright red. "You're really getting on my nerves, you know that, don't you Malfoy?"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Won't ever happen again."

He, apparently, doesn't appreciate sarcasm.

"Wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you. What the hell did you think you were doing this morning?"

"Oh, where's your Christmas spirit?" I snort. "Weasley's head makes a nice tree. She ought to thank me, since I made it look somewhat presentable."

He pushes me to the wall. "You smug bastard," he sneers. "You should feel grateful that Rose is gracious enough to spare a glance at you."

"You see, Scamander," I say, chuckling. "Not everyone creams their pants when a female looks at them. I think you should get that checked out."

I know I'm pushing my luck. Scamander is going to explode any second now.

"Listen, Malfoy," he says forcefully. "I really don't want to hurt you but-"

I snort. "Hurt me? You can't do shit to me with your mummy's office right around the corner."

This, of course, is hardly true. Scamander doesn't give a fuck about how much trouble he'll get into. Besides, our lovely guidance counselor isn't very fond of me.

Being a Death Eater's son and all.

Story of my life.

"You think?" growls Scamander. "Try me, Malfoy."

By now, I have no idea why I'm pushing Scamander to his limit. My mind tells me to somehow ditch the library and avoid Scamander for a while. My mouth evidently disagrees.

"Hit me with your best shot," I say with a defiant shrug.

And he does.

His best, turns out, is  _pretty_ good. My lip immediately splits, and I can almost hear the ripping sound. I know he won't continue. Scamander is at least honorable enough to not hit someone who won't fight back. That doesn't mean he'll stop talking, though.

"It must be like this every day for you," he sneers. "You just can't stop picking fights, can't you? Tell me, Malfoy, do you enjoy getting your arse kicked? Or is this some sort of sick fetish of

yours?" I open my mouth to retort but he points a warning finger at me. "Don't. Just shut the hell up for Dumbledore's sake."

He stomps out after that without saying another word. I don't realize I'm sitting on the floor until then. I scoot closer to the wall, bring my knees up, and rest my head on them.

A typical Monday for Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, ladies and gents.

Scamander is right about the picking fights thing. Almost twice a week I find myself in McGonagall or Lupin's office, McGonagall what with her being the headmistress, and Lupin being the head of Slytherin. This incident is one of the few lucky ones that no one is around to witness, which means, I won't get into trouble as long as I don't visit Madam Pomfrey. The poor healer thinks I'm a victim of bullying or something, and swears to owl my parents every time I pay her office a visit.

I won't risk going to her, though. Fixing a split lip can't be that hard.

I raise my head from my knees to see that I've bled onto my trousers. I also catch a glimpse of a pair of ballet flats from the corner of my eyes. I look up to see Rose Weasley staring down at me.

"Came to join the party, did you?"

"I came to check up on you, actually," she tells me as she crosses her arms. "I saw Lorcan in the corridor and he told me-"

"How considerate of you," I cut her off. "Thanks. Really. I appreciate it _so_ much."

"No need to be so feisty, Malf-"

"Now if you could be kind enough to leave," I continue. "Unless you have booze, of course."

She lets out an impatient huff. "Malfoy, I'm here to  _fix_  you."

"I'm pretty sure Madam Pomfrey can do that."

"Sure she can. Right after she has a nice chat with your parents."

"And you think I care, why?"

"Because the last thing you want your parents to think is that their precious son is being bullied."

She's imitating the argument Al and I had last week. That's the downside of being best mates with Albus Severus Potter. His siblings and cousins end up hearing a bunch of things you'd never tell them, simply because he can't keep his mouth shut.

"It's hardly being bullied if I'm asking for it." I feel stupid immediately after I say that. Why am I arguing against myself?

"Then  _why_ are you asking for it?"

"For kicks, really. Not as in the actual kicks. I mean that I enjoy the adrenaline. No, really. It's awesome."

"I would appreciate your sarcasm any other time, Malfoy, but right now you're bleeding pretty badly so-"

"I can deal with it myself."

"No, you can't. So let me take a fucking look at it."

I contort my face in defeat. "Make it quick."

Pulling out her wand, she walks to me. "I can't promise that it won't hurt."

"Just make it quick," I repeat.

As she tilts my head up, she says, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not speaking to Lorcan."

_Merlin,_  I'm feeling better already! My lip isn't hurting like a bitch anymore!

_Not._

"He was trying to be a good friend," I grumble.

_Really_ , mouth? We're defending Man-Bear now?

"Yeah, and  _you_ are being a shitty one," she snorts.

"I'm not your friend, Weasley."

I don't regret saying it, but the awkward silence that ensues is uncomfortable as hell.

"You used to be," she says finally.

No. Nuh-uh. We're not doing this right now.

_Nope, nope, nope._

"Are you done?" I snap.

"I will be. If you wait for a sodding second."

"Hurry the hell up. I have places to be."

She scoffs. "Yeah fucking right."

"Believe it or not, Weasley, I have a bloody life."

She's quiet for a while.

After a while, "Done," she says. "Did my best. It'll sting for a few hours."

"Great. Thanks. Are you going to leave now? I have a Hufflepuff to tutor in forty minutes."

"What a coincidence," Weasley chirps. "So do I." She proceeds to take a stack of books out of her rucksack and slam them on a table. "Hope you don't mind sharing the library with me and Renley."

"Renley? Weasley,  _I'm_ tutoring him. Not you."

She raises her eyebrows. "Didn't he tell you? He changed tutors. Decided that he liked my teaching style better, I suppose. He was supposed to tell you yesterday."

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

"Can today get any shittier? Isn't there a daily limit or something? Or is today the 'Annual Fuck a Malfoy over Day'?"

"Oh, hush." She scowls. "Be thankful you little shit. You wouldn't survive a day as me."

"Because your life must be  _so_  hard: ' _Oh no, Dom ate the last croissant. Squeal, they discontinued my favorite nail polish color. Gasp! I BROKE A NAIL!'."_ I imitate with a shrill voice.

"Sounds rough, Weasley. I'm so sorry."

"Yes, Malfoy. Bravo. You're completely right. Those are my daily horrors. My nails and a bloody croissant. Merlin, it hurts to think about it. Oh,  _how_ do I survive each day?"

Is it just me, or is her deadpan voice fucking creepy?

" _Your_ life must be hell," she goes on. " _Ugh, I have no clean socks left. Grumble grumble,_ why  _did that guy I insulted for a whole day hit me? What did I do wrong? Merlin, I HAVE HERPES."_

I roll my eyes. "I do  _not_  have herpes, and  _you_  have no idea what it feels like to have a tough life."

"You wouldn't survive a  _day_ as me, Malfoy."

"Psh. Try being a Malfoy for a day."

"FINE!" she bursts out. " _Fine._  I'll be you for a day and you can be me. Maybe that'll teach you not to be such a little bitch all the time."

"That's truly ingenious, Weasley. How did  _I_ never think of that? Oh, right, because it's  _fucking impossible._ "

"No, it's not." She pulls out her laptop from her rucksack. "Nothing is impossible when you have the Wizardnet," she mimics the TV commercial.

'What the hell is a Wizardnet?' you're asking.

The Wizardnet is the product of twelve stoned members of the Department of Naming Stuff having a meeting. In other words, it's the Wızarding World version of the muggle Internet. It has magical versions of all the populars muggle websites. Some of the most popular ones are Wizbook, Wroogle, Wizipedia, Wandblr, W-mail, Critter, and Vootube.

I don't know what the Ministry of Magic was smoking, but I'm pretty sure it was laced with LSD.

She takes a seat and pats the one next to her without looking away from her screen. So I sit and begin to watch her as she swiftly types 'Body Switching spells and Potions.'

"Weasley," I begin slowly. "If you don't mind me asking... What the fuck are you doing?"

"Shhh!"

"You didn't take me seriously, right?"

"I did."

"Weasley, there is no bloody way I'm swapping bodies with you."

Her head snaps up. "I dare you, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.  _I double dare you._ "

Merlin.

No.

She did  _not_  just do that.

Looking satisfied with my reaction, she turns her attention back to her laptop. Throughout the next fifteen minutes, she reads various articles and goes on dozens of different websites. She's on the twenty-seventh page of Wroogle when she decides to give up.

"Ugh, give me that." I slide her laptop to me and type 'Banned Body Switching Spells and Potions.'

"Malfoy. What. The. Fuck?"

I shrug. "Everything you found was either too difficult or took too long brew. Thus, underage wizards and witches have no way of brewing the said potion or casting the said spell. The banned spells and potions must have a reason to be banned, right?"

"Yeah, like being fucking deadly," she retorts.

" _Or,_ " I say, "too many minors trying to perform or brew it."

Her face is troubled for a while, until she shrugs and says, "Meh. It won't be the first illegal thing I've done."

Each website I go onto only has the name of the potion or spell, but no instructions. As I exit ' ' I'm starting to become disheartened. That's when I randomly click a link called 'Baratheon's Blog'. What catches my attention about the blog is that I have to take a survey before being allowed access to it. It's as if the administrator is trying to determine if I'm a teenager or not.

Twenty very weird questions later, I'm welcomed to the homepage of the blog. The latest entry's title reads  _Switch'd._ It goes like this:

_HEY FOLKS. LET ME TELL YOU THAT I'M TAKING DOWN THIS ENTRY 48 HOURS AFTER POSTING IT. WHICH MEANS IT ONLY HAS_ 36.23  _LEFT._

_SO YOU DECIDED TO PLAY A LITTLE PRANK AND SWITCH BODIES WITH SOMEONE? WELL, I'VE GOT A GREAT POTION FOR YOU! IT'LL ONLY TAKE YOU HALF AN HOUR TO BREW AND THE EFFECTS WILL LAST FROM 24 HOURS TO 6 WEEKS, ACCORDING TO THE AMOUNT OF INGREDIENTS YOU ADD._

_JUST REMEMBER THAT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, FOLKS, HAS BANNED THIS POTION!_

"This is great," Weasley whispers to me. "You can take care of it while I'm tutoring Renley."

"Wha-? No. No way am I brewing it.  _Nope._ "

She sighs. "Fine, you're such a pansy. Tutor Renley for today, I'll get it done." She puts her laptop and her books back in her bag. "Meet me back here at midnight."

"Alright."

She winks at me and hurries out of the library.

_What the hell did I just agree to?_

* * *

(I've Had My Share)

* * *

Holy Hell, it's half past midnight right now and I'm  _way_  over my 500-word limit. I've even written a bit about my feelings!

I'm becoming Albus Severus Potter!

Joke aside; Weasley is probably going to decapitate me for being so late, so I should get going.

I'm regretting agreeing to Weasley's stupid little bet very,  _very_  much. On the bright side, as of a couple of minutes, I'll know how it feels to have tits.

Yours truly, Scorpius I'm-so-Fucked Malfoy.

* * *

**A/N: Hello, friend! I'm not sure if you've read the whole chapter, or just skipped to the end. Doesn't matter. What matters is that you're reading this right now. Maybe you know me, Ece, from my previous (and discontinued) Scorose story, The Thorns of a Rose. Maybe you follow my blog, .com. Or maybe, we haven't met yet, and you coincidentally stumbled upon this story. Well...**

**Congratulations, friend! Thank you for reading, and please do leave a review. Not only are reviews a great source of feedback, but also immensely motivational.**

**Feel free to PM me or drop an ask in my tumblr ask box.**

**TTFN**


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